


Crossing Paths: Eliot's Path

by Ralkana



Category: Leverage
Genre: False Memories, Gen, Stealth Crossover, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter stirs up things that are probably better left alone... A crossover fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing Paths: Eliot's Path

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ _Leverage_ is owned by Electric Entertainment and TNT. The rest of the disclaimers are the bottom, so as not to spoil the surprise...
> 
> Timeline ~ Takes place in the middle of season two, between _The Three Days of the Hunter Job_ and _The Ice Man Job_.

 

Eliot arrived at the rendezvous point, only to find himself alone. Well, not alone – there were plenty of people sitting at the outdoor café, drinking coffee and conversing pleasantly, but none of them was a crazy blond thief.

"Dammit, Parker!" he growled, trying not to attract the attention of the people around him.

"Shhh!" she whispered over the comm.

"Where the hell are you?" Eliot did his best to rein in his frustration. Nothing about this job had gone right, and now he was stuck riding herd on a crazy chick as they chased the mark all the way across the freaking country and back again while Nate and Sophie fast-talked the client away from a trip to the police. "You were supposed to wait for me!"

He was definitely attracting glances – even now, when every second person had a Bluetooth stuck to their head, a guy having an angry conversation with thin air stood out – so he moved away from the café and towards the building that held the mark's safehouse condo.

Nate's voice was quietly firm over the comm. "Parker, I told you to stick with Eliot."

"It's only three stories," she murmured. "And there was a fire escape. It was so easy, and I just climbed up to get a better look – make sure he's there – before Eliot busts his door in."

"I ain't bustin' anything in – get the hell down from there!" he hissed as he saw her up on the fire escape across the street, peering into the mark's window.

There was a flurry of gunshots from inside the bank behind Eliot, and he whirled toward it just in time to see a frantic man with a gun in one hand and a duffel bag in the other come bursting through the double doors.

Still looking behind him, the robber ran into Eliot, the impact staggering them both. The gun discharged into the pavement, sending up chunks of concrete and bullet fragments, and Eliot swore as they sliced through his jeans and bit into the uncovered skin of his arms.

Before the man could bring his gun hand up and around to fire again, Eliot grabbed his arm, breaking his hold – and his wrist – with a quick twist. A palm strike broke the man's nose and sent him crumpling to the ground.

Flipping his hair back from his face, Eliot heard shouting and the clatter of a dozen hammers being cocked. It sounded like a damn typewriter, and his heart sank. He raised his hands and took a careful step back from the unconscious robber. The double handful of federal agents that had been having coffee and doing their banking on this fine morning surrounded him, weapons at the ready.

Several patrol cars added to the chaos as they came screaming to a stop around him.

"Uh oh," Parker breathed over the comm.

"What uh oh?" Hardison added from Boston, where he was doing his best to coordinate the team's movements from Nate's living room.

"What the hell is going on?" Nate added. "Eliot?"

"Eliot can't talk to you right now," Parker said from her perch on the mark's fire escape. "He's surrounded by a bunch of cops and what looks like FBI agents, and they all have their guns out."

"You all right, sir?" one of the agents called, and Eliot blinked in surprise at not being ordered to the ground.

"Ah, yeah," he called out, hands still up, ignoring the suddenly frantic babble of voices in his ear. He thickened his accent and tried his best to include as much amazed-tourist in his voice as he could. "Did y'all see that? That was crazy! I think he just robbed that bank! Um, y'all think you could point your guns somewhere else?"

He could hear the murmurs behind him, saw the camera flashes in the windows of the bank, and he carefully kept his face turned away and half-hidden by his hair. The last thing he needed was to show up on the news in someone's cell phone video, or on that stupid web thing Hardison was always looking at.

There was no movement from any of the people with guns, so he added a smile. "Look, I'm here on vacation, okay? I was just standing here, and he ran right into me. He had a gun, and it went off, and I thought he was gonna shoot me."

"Who robs a bank with guns? That's just cheating!" Parker was saying. "Eliot knocked him out before he could shoot anybody else. Hey, I'm a witness! Maybe I should go down there!"

Eliot tried not to flinch as three people simultaneously shouted "No!" in his ear. He bit his lip to keep from adding his own.

"Parker, this is already a mess," Nate told her. "There's no reason for you to get involved too. Just stay put, wherever you are."

Someone burst through the door from inside the bank, and half the agents and cops swung their guns around toward the newcomer. His face was pale, and there was blood on his hands.

"Hunter, Cyber Fraud," he said, his voice shaky. "We got people down in here! Agent down!"

One of the older federal agents clearly took charge, ordering cops and feds alike. They scrambled, some of them into the bank, some of them toward the unconscious guy on the ground, and some of them to secure the scene and hold back onlookers. Eliot considered just slipping away in the chaos, but he felt someone's gaze on him, and he knew he'd never make it unnoticed.

He glanced toward the person watching him, freezing as his stomach knotted within him.

The man was wearing an expensive suit, nice lines, tie with dice on it. Around his age, maybe a little older. A little taller – an even six – brown and brown. Glaring at him.

Wary, that instinct that was never wrong still telling him to get the hell away, Eliot watched the suit start walking toward him. The man was a former operator – Ranger, probably, though he'd been out for a while, by the looks of his walk.

"I know this guy," Eliot muttered, racking his brain. "Why do I know this guy?"

"What? Who?" Nate asked, but Eliot ignored him. His memories of some of his enemies tended to be hazy, due to the head trauma and the torture, but he usually recalled the people who looked at him with murder in their eye.

The suit got nearer, and Eliot frowned as he remembered fighting with this guy on a dark street. The sledgehammer was heavy, a good solid weight in his hand, and he felt vicious triumph at the way his arm sang with the impact to the guy's chin.

Eliot blinked and shook his head, and the memory faded out like an old TV. That made no sense. He'd used a lot of things as unconventional weapons in his time, but he'd sure as hell have remembered a sledgehammer fight. Not to mention, if he'd smacked the suit in the chin like that with a hammer that size, the guy wouldn't be walking toward him now...

He was shaken out of his muddled musings as the older agent who'd taken charge stepped forward and grasped him by the elbow.

"You can put your hands down now, son. Ah, we appreciate your assistance. I'm Special Agent Perry."

Eliot nodded in acknowledgement, lowering the hands he'd forgotten were up as he'd tried to figure out who the hell the suit was. "Marcus Carter," he said, going with the ID he was using for their current job.

"I'm going to need to get a statement from you," Perry said, glancing around.

The suit stepped forward with a smile toward the older agent that didn't reach his eyes.

"I'll take it, sir."

Perry looked to his left, surprised. "Uh, Agent Booth. Ah... thanks, but I'm sure there's a junior agent – "

"Bones is on vacation, or doing fieldwork or whatever – I don't really know. Somewhere in South America. I got nothin' but paperwork. Happy to help." The grin he turned on Eliot was almost feral, and Eliot struggled not to show his confusion.

This guy was hostile. Eliot had no idea why, and that wasn't good. His right hand began to tingle, as if he'd slept on it wrong, and he looked down at it, flexing his fingers in bewilderment.

"I'll just take him on down the street, get his statement, sir. Won't take long."

At the suit's "down the street" gesture, Eliot glanced over and nearly groaned as he recognized the façade he'd seen in a hundred movies and TV shows.

"Who robs a bank a block away from the freaking FBI building?" he snarled. Perry looked taken aback at his tone, but the suit – Booth? – just narrowed his eyes even further and continued to study Eliot.

"Oh, no. No way, man!" Hardison hissed in his ear. "You do _not_ want to go into FBI headquarters unprepared. They got metal detectors and shit, man, and I know you probably got, like, fifteen knives on you!"

Hardison's guess was a little high, but Eliot had enough on him to make a metal detector... problematic. He glanced at the five ambulances in and among the patrol cars that nosed into the curb from every direction. Only three of them were being used to treat and transport the victims – and the suspect – from the robbery. Those extra ambulances were an out.

"Oh God, I'm bleeding," he said weakly, brushing at the blood that continued to trickle down his arms from the bullet's ricochet. Actually, now that he looked at it, one gash on his left arm was fairly nasty and probably would need stitches. Later. Much later and away from here.

"Oh my God, Eliot, are you okay?" Sophie's concerned voice buzzed in his ear, followed quickly by Parker's laugh.

"He's faking," she said. "I can see the blood from here. He bled more that time he cut himself chopping carrots!"

Eliot bit back his growl. Some quiet on the comms would be nice. So he could freaking concentrate. Staggering slightly on his feet, he grabbed onto the sleeve of Perry's coat. "Oh God... I think I need to sit down. I don't... Oh my God, the blood... I can't... Oh, Jesus, I hate the sight of it..."

Hardison was now laughing so hard in his ear, Eliot was sure the hacker'd choke on his soda.

The older agent looked alarmed. "Yes, of course," he said. Turning to Booth, he added, "I don't think it's really necessary to take Mr. Carter all the way into interview. We can certainly get his statement here while the EMTs attend to his injuries."

Apparently unmoved by Eliot's distress, Booth continued to study him as though he were an interesting specimen under a microscope slide. "Of course, sir. I'll take it from here – I think they need you in the building."

As they walked toward the ambulance, the suit's grip on Eliot's elbow was deceptively loose. Eliot knew if he tried to break it, there was a fifty-fifty chance it'd be his elbow that broke.

One glance from Booth had the EMTs backing off. The male EMT opened his mouth to say something, and then changed his mind.

"Have a seat." The agent nodded toward the open door of the ambulance.

Eliot sat. "My arm?" he asked weakly. "The blood..."

"In a minute," Booth said smoothly, leaning his hip against the ambulance. "I'm pretty sure you won't bleed to death. I'm sorry, sir – I didn't get your name."

"Marcus Carter," Eliot replied, and though the suit didn't write it down, Eliot knew he was committing it to memory.

"Hardison, is that ID good enough to stand up to an FBI run?" Nate asked. The hacker didn't answer, and Eliot felt sweat trickle icily down his spine. Nate, concerned, asked again, "Hardison?"

"I'm here," Hardison said finally, disdain dripping from the words. "Just trying to control my disbelief that you actually asked me that."

 _Ohhhh, you are so dead_ , Eliot thought. _I will kick your ass six ways from Sunday, and you'll be typing with your freaking nose!_

"You can cut the innocent act," Booth told him, voice laced with anger, and Eliot's breath caught as another memory flashed through him. That voice, cold with fury, hissing in his ear. Breathing impossible, his throat a ring of fire.

 _What the fuck is going on?_ he thought wildly. "I don't... what?"

"How the hell does a guy who knows how to break a weaponhold and take down someone with perfectly executed CQD moves freak out at a scratch on his arm?"

Alarms shrilled in his head – and apparently, in Nate's too. "Eliot, who the hell is this guy? Parker, stay ready, we may need a diversion to get him out of there."

"CQD?" Eliot repeated, and though he knew the term, the confusion in his voice wasn't all feigned. He thought fast, keeping his eyes away from the suit's. "My brother's a Marine. Taught me some moves. I swear, I never thought I'd have to use them!"

Over the comm, Eliot could hear the faint sound of Hardison's fingers clicking rapidly over his keyboard. "Adding that to his cover. One badass Marine older brother, coming right up. You know, I wish everyone'd stop the improv with their damn IDs. I'm good, but this shit takes time!"

Eliot stared wordlessly at Booth. The agent was really pissed off at Eliot about something, and he couldn't tell if his cover was blown – or about to be blown. In this situation, silence was a very good tactic.

"Y'know, Mr. Carter, your little _weakness_ with the blood there, it's odd, 'cause you sure as hell didn't faint when that bastard's broken nose bled all over the fucking sidewalk!" Booth snarled, and Eliot was amazed to find himself off-balance as the guy pulled him to his feet. The suit's fingers bit into his shoulders as he stared into Eliot's eyes. "Who the hell are you? Why do I know you?"

The suit's eyes were as wild as Eliot imagined his own were, and with that, some of Eliot's unfamiliar and completely terrifying panic faded away.

He knew this man. This man knew him. Neither of them had any idea how or why, but as long as Eliot wasn't the only one thrown by the situation, he could deal. All he had to do was deny everything, give Booth his statement, and get the hell out before whatever freaky connection there was between them made itself clear to the suit.

A part of him was cackling with glee at the other man's distress – probably the same part of him that was insisting this guy's hair was too carefully styled, his skin way too tan, and Eliot fought that part of himself down. All he had to do was be meekly cooperative.

"I – I'm sorry, sir," he said, letting his voice shake. "I-I don't know what you want from me! I was j-just standing there, and that guy had a gun!"

"I don't believe you!" Booth snarled, bruising fingers digging deeper into Eliot's shoulders as he shook Eliot like a ragdoll.

Eliot's head spun. Terror, instinctive and primal, flooded him at the idea of being at this man _(ohgodnotamannotamannotaman!)_ 's mercy. His muscles jerked and trembled, and he couldn't stifle the cry that slid from his lips.

Booth dropped him like he was electrified, stepping back with horror in his own eyes.

A younger agent stepped forward, hand on his sidearm. "Everything all right, sir?"

Despite the fact that Eliot was the one quivering like a terrified rabbit, the question was aimed at Booth. The agent slid a shaking hand through his hair.

"Fine, Morales. Everything's fine."

With a nod of dismissal toward Morales, Booth stepped toward Eliot, freezing as the hitter tensed. It took every ounce of self-control Eliot had not to put Booth on the ground – the area was swarming with jumpy agents and cops, and assaulting one would be a very, very bad idea.

As if to confirm that thought, Morales sent a distrustful look at Eliot before going back to his own witness.

"I... apologize," Booth said weakly. "I..."

He trailed off, still staring at Eliot, turmoil in his eyes.

"Eliot, are you hurt? What the hell is going on?" Nate demanded, his voice tight with frustration and unease. "Do we need to get you out? Dammit, Parker, I need to know what's going on!"

"It's okay," Eliot said, answering both the suit and Nate, dismayed to hear the tremor in his own voice. He hoped to God his team believed he'd faked it. "I just... I just want to give you my statement so I can go. I just wanna go home – "

Pure panic swamped him as he went blank. Where the hell was he supposed to be from? He _never_ forgot a cover! He hid it with a hitch in his voice that wasn't completely fabricated. "I just wanna go home – "

"Oklahoma," Hardison supplied.

" – to Oklahoma," Eliot said without a pause, and Booth, who'd seemingly started to calm down, stiffened again.

"Oklahoma," he said tonelessly, his eyes flat once more with suspicion.

Eliot nearly screamed with frustration. Why was every fucking thing he said the wrong thing to say?

"Look, can I just give you my statement? Please, I've been shot at and had guns pointed at me, and then you... I just want to be done with this!"

Booth took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. Reaching into his suit coat, he pulled out a stack of notecards and a pen. The EMTs, apparently feeling the change in energy, moved in to treat Eliot.

"Can you just butterfly it?" Eliot asked. "I just wanna get this done and go!"

The male EMT glanced at Booth, who nodded his approval.

Eliot breathed in, using the blood on his arms as an excuse to look away as he prepared his story. _Simple, but enough details to be convincing_ , he thought.

"Perry, Oklahoma," Hardison said in his ear. "Chef."

The details of his cover slid back into place, and he barely bit back a sigh of relief.

"Start with your name," Booth said, obviously trying to be gentle. "And your address."

"Marcus Carter," Eliot said again, repeating the address Hardison fed him. "Uh... I'm in D.C. on vacation. I just got in this morning."

"Got plans?" Booth asked, and Eliot knew he wasn't asking out of mere curiosity.

"Uh... I... there's this girl," he started, and the whole team groaned over the comm. He looked down to hide his smirk. "She lives here. I've been... talking to her... online, you know? The computer?"

"Oh, crap, here we go!" Hardison muttered. "You're getting me back for something, aren't you? Not cool, bro, not cool!"

"And, uh... on the phone. Texts and stuff, too."

"I'm so kicking your ass," Hardison groaned, but Eliot could hear his keyboard clicking again as he started creating the email and text history for Carter and his mystery woman.

"She's been wanting to meet. I had some vacation time coming, so I came... We were supposed to meet there," Eliot added, with a nod toward the outdoor café that was now sealed off as part of the crime scene. "I... I don't know if she ever showed up. Thanks," he added to the EMTs as they finished cleaning him up and bandaging his arm.

"Don't forget to get those looked at again. That one needs stitches," the female EMT told him. When he nodded, they glanced warily between the two men before climbing into their bus and shutting the doors behind them.

"Go on," Booth coaxed. "You were supposed to meet..."

"I was, uh, waiting for her. Kinda nervous, y'know? She's really cute, and... So I was pacing. And then I heard the gunshots, and the guy just came flying out that door."

He gave a carefully calculated shudder. "I just... I just grabbed him. All the stuff my brother taught me just came back to me, and I grabbed him."

Booth was cautiously watching him. Eliot held the eye contact, and eventually the agent nodded and looked down with a frown, writing something on the card he held.

"And the woman's name?"

"The lovely Callie Winters," Hardison said on a laughing sigh.

"Callie. Callie Winters... I can give you her email address if you need it. Or, um, her cell phone number, I guess."

"Cell phone number will work," Booth said, and Eliot swore mentally.

"Guess when she gets a call from the FBI, it means I'm never gonna talk to her again," he said as he pulled out his cell phone. Pretending to scroll through his address book, he blinked as he watched an entry magically appear for Callie. _Fucking freaky, Hardison_ , he thought.

"Here it is," he said, handing the phone to Booth. He watched the agent carefully copy the number, knowing that if Booth tried it, he'd get Sophie, who'd charm him right out of that suit.

"Can I go now?" he asked when Booth handed him back his phone.

Booth eyed him, and Eliot struggled not to look away as another one of those flashes hit him. It was night, and the suit was watching him across a room – a mausoleum? – lit with flickering candles – or was it a cauldron? – and Christ, was that a bloody sword or axe or something in the other man _(notaman!)_ 's hand? Dark clothes, a long, leather coat, short, spiky hair, and that same impenetrable expression in those dark eyes.

He could feel the weight of some sort of pole – with a cross? – in his left hand, the papery rasp of the scroll in his right. The smell of burnt flesh and ash floated in the air, and there was a body sprawled at Booth _(nonotbooth)_ 's feet. Eliot's right hand spasmed, the fingers flexing, agony searing through him to steal his breath, and he looked down at his hand in shock, seeing nothing but the blood. Oh God, his hand! Where was his hand?

Cradling his arm to his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut, and the vision or memory or whatever the fuck it was cleared. When he opened his eyes, he saw Booth staring at Eliot's right hand in astonishment, and Eliot knew, wherever he'd been in his mind, the suit had been there too this time.

 _This is bad! Really, really clusterfuck bad! I have to get out of here!_ Eliot thought frantically. His right arm still throbbed, little shocks of pain, and he fought the urge to shake it.

Booth cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from Eliot's still quivering fingers. He stared at a point over Eliot's left shoulder. "Go," he said, his voice shaky. "But I'm going to have an agent take you to your hotel. You'll need to stay local for a few days."

Eliot bit back a curse as the agent signaled to someone out of the hitter's line of sight. He didn't want to have to hurt some baby agent to get away, but he would. He wanted away from this man and out of this city. Weird fuckin' shit was going on.

"Yes, sir?" came the perky voice from beside him, and Eliot nearly laughed with relief. Cursing his increasingly shaky control, he looked at Parker, who ignored him in favor of looking attentively at Booth. Eliot slumped against the side of the ambulance and did his best to look completely worn out. It wasn't difficult.

"Agent..."

"Brown, sir," Parker replied. Eliot studied her out of the corner of his eye. She wore shades, and an FBI windbreaker and shield, and looked exactly like all the other baby agents milling around the scene.

"Brown. Please, uh... please escort Mr. Carter here to his hotel, make sure he arrives safely." When she nodded, he turned smoothly back to Eliot. The hitter would have been more convinced of Booth's composure if the agent weren't still refusing to meet his eyes. "And of course, I'll need a contact number for you."

Hardison made a confused sound at the number Eliot rattled off.

"What number's that?" he muttered. "How do I not know it?"

Eliot knew the hacker would try it, but he'd get nowhere. It was one of Eliot's private numbers, which led to an automated voicemail message with no identifying characteristics. The only way to get a call back was to leave a message, and Eliot had no intention of returning the suit's call when it came.

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Carter. Thank you again for your assistance."

"Oh yeah. Happy to help," Eliot said with a weak grin. Parker took his elbow, and they walked quickly away from the still shaken agent.

"Who was that guy?" Parker hissed. "And why are you both so freaked?"

"Yeah, Eliot. I think we'd all like to know who your friend there is." Nate's voice was a sardonic drawl, but they could all hear the concern under it.

Eliot dragged shaking hands through his hair as he quickened his pace. "I have no freaking clue, but Nate... I need to get out of here."

The uncharacteristic vulnerability in the hitter's voice silenced the whole team.

"Agreed," Nate said after a moment. "This job went to hell before you guys even left Boston. Abort, get yourselves home."

"No argument from me," Eliot said, practically dragging Parker toward the garage where he'd parked their rental car. He wanted to get out of D.C., and if he could help it, he'd never step foot in this damn city again. There was no way he was taking a chance on crossing paths with Agent Booth again.

 _(nonotbooth)_

 _Ah, Christ, shut up!_ "Let's get the hell out of here."

With one backward glance to where Booth stood, still watching them, Eliot and Parker got the hell out of there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Not only do I not own _Leverage_ , I also don't own _Bones_ or _Angel_ , or any of the characters, unfortunately. I'm just playing with them!


End file.
